From Me to You
by MissEMT
Summary: oneshot. Harry talks to his dead parents. -a second story to 'Padfoot to Prongs'-


What would I have been called if I was a girl?

Sorry. That's kinda blunt. And forward. I should introduce myself. Except that you know me. Obviously. Well, you sort of do. I mean, you'd know me better if...well...

Ah. Sorry. What I'm trying to say is, I'm Harry, your son.

Hello.

Hi. Um, yeah.

About that beginning, it's just that, I've always thought that if I'd ever meet you both, it'd be something I'd ask: 'What would I have been called if I was a girl?'

Oh, jeez, that sounds so stupid. I'm not stupid, I mean, I don't get marks like Hermione, but I'm not too rubbish at stuff. Anyway, I'm just saying that if I'd met you, that would be what I'd ask. Because for some weird reason that is something I've always wanted to know. And it's always kind of annoyed me that I'll never know.

Maybe I should ask something more deep and meaningful, like 'Do you love me?', or something about yourselves, like 'What was your favourite part of your wedding?' But, honestly, I'd rather know the little, unimportant things. Like, my alternate girl name.

I can ask those other kinds of questions too, if you like. I don't mind. It's never bad knowing too much, right? I mean, I'd rather know loads and loads about you two than nothing at all. I'd still rather know the answer to my first question though.

I wonder if you're the same? Would you want to know the big, important things of my life? Like all about the time I went into the Chamber of Secrets? Or would you prefer to know the little things? Like the fact that I can touch my nose with my tongue. (That's not a lie, I really can!) I guess you'd probably want to know everything. Why wouldn't you? I am your son. I mean, if you'd want to. I don't know whether you'd care. Well, I know you'd _care_, but maybe you wouldn't _need_ to know everything... Oh, I don't know. I don't know how parents work.

Well, that's not entirely true. I know how Ron's parents work. Molly and Arthur Weasley. Did you ever meet them? I guess they were much further ahead in school than you. Well, I stay with them a lot. Over summers, and sometimes Christmas. They're great, Mr and Mrs Weasley. Really nice. But still parent-y, you know? Like, they set rules and shout sometimes. Not at me, but the twins get an earful, I'll tell you that. And I have Sirius too. He's probably not the most parent-like (if I'm going by Mrs Weasley's standards – she doesn't always get on with Sirius), but he's still brilliant. He takes his Godfatherly duties seriously enough (urgh, that stupid pun!). He keeps a good look-out for me, and we have a laugh. I get the impression I remind him too much of the past sometimes... He's done a lot of good. He deserves more than he's been given over these years. He misses you guys; I know that.

And, I guess, don't think me stupid, or girly, but I mean, I miss you too. Kind of, a lot.

I know, I know, how am I supposed to miss people who I hardly know? Really, didn't know at all. I don't remember you, no offence. So how could I possibly miss you? But I do. I really really do. I don't want to think that I miss the idea of you, you know, like, miss having general parental figures. I don't want that to be true. I want to miss _you_. And I do.

I so do.

There's nothing I wish more than you not dying. If you were alive, I would never have had to go to the Dursley's; I would have been raised by you, _with_ you. I could have learnt Quidditch in the garden. I could have helped set the table every evening. I could have rebelled and painted my bedroom walls black. I could have had a teddy bear that I kept but never told my friends about. I could have had _friends_. I could have written Christmas lists and spent all Christmas Eve getting far too excited about presents. I could have had _presents_. I could have stayed with Sirius at weekends. I could have been sat down and told about Remus' 'furry little problem' when the time was right. I could have known and actually liked Wormtail. But best of all, I could have spent my life with parents, but not just any parents; you two.

I would have liked that. I want that. I wish so much that my life had been that way. _Our_ lives had been that way.

It would've been nice.

Sorry. I'm getting a bit... uh, I don't know. This is hard. There is so much that I want to say to you both and so many questions I want to ask, but I don't know where to begin. I don't know what to do with myself.

You know what? You know what I really, really want to say?

I want to say that I'm sorry.

I am so sorry. If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have died. You'd still be here, alive and together. But you're not. You're not because of me. It's my fault.

I'm so sorry.

I can't keep going. This is too difficult. I wish that you were really here so I could say this to you properly. But I have to stop.

You would've thought this wouldn't be so hard to think about when it's been so many years. But, I guess, a parent's death is something you can never get over. Not really.

* * *

Thanks for reading :)

This was whipped up in one go, given a proofread and bahdabingbahdaboom, done. I pretty much just went with the emotion of it, and here be the product. And I have to admit, I really did get caught in the emotion, I had a little weep as I went (maybe I shouldn't admit that...).This is a second story to my 'Padfoot to Prongs'; it's the same style and idea, just different characters. I'm quite proud of that oneshot, so hopefully this one lives up to the same standards.

Please be kind enough to review!


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